


The Heavens Opened

by Sparkle_Free



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkle_Free/pseuds/Sparkle_Free
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson get stuck in a tight place during a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heavens Opened

"Watson, this way!"

Watson scrambled over the smooth face of the stone, sliding awkwardly down the side and landing precariously on his feet. He re-adjusted his grip on his medical bag, then peered through the downpour, but Holmes was nowhere to be seen.

They had been searching a field for clues to a burglary in a nearby village. Holmes had noted where the field dropped off at the edge, large, smooth stone slabs forming a wall of sorts, separating the field above from the beach below. He had seemed to promptly forget about it when faced with tracks in the field - until the wind was suddenly whipping their clothes around and the clouds let loose a downpour that sent sheets of icy rain beating at their exposed hands and faces. They were soaked to the bone in minutes. It had been bitterly cold before, but the rain made it positively freezing, and every passing second made Watson fear for his extremities. Holmes had turned then, not toward the town, which was admittedly several miles away at that point, but toward the rocks at the far end of the field. As he jogged ahead, Watson tried to call out to him that he was going the wrong way, but he'd suspected the sound was lost in the din of the storm.

"Here, Watson," his voice came from behind him. He turned to see Holmes crouched in a small cave.

"In there?" He blinked water out of his eyes.

"Yes."

"Holmes, there's no _room_," he protested. His leg was beginning to ache, and he wanted nothing more than to be sitting in his cozy chair by the fire at Baker Street, instead of contemplating huddling in a cave - more like an indent, or nook, really - with Sherlock Holmes. Holmes, for his part, merely stood so his knees didn't jut out so, making room for him. Muttering darkly, Watson limped forward and slid into the cramped space.

It was barely wide enough for the two of them to stand chest to chest; he slid past Holmes and settled at his side, shoulder to shoulder. He noted that the cave extended back farther, but when he reached his hand into the darkness he could feel the smooth stone curl around. No more than six or seven feet deep, he calculated. Still, here he was mostly safe from the wind and rain, at least, and he had to admit that the heat radiating off his friend soothed the goose flesh on his arms and the pain in his leg somewhat. He dropped his bag with a thud and rubbed his fingers together, trying to chase away the numbness.

They stood in silence, listening to the rain striking the rock above them, producing an odd hollow sound within, the wind howling, the great waves crashing on the beach as though Poseidon himself was protesting the storm's intrusion. Watson leaned around Holmes to watch as the water swelled and rolled, sending up great waves of white spray when it met the sand. The sky was covered in dark clouds, parted here and there to let great patches of light shine down over the water. Privately, Watson couldn't help but admit it was a beautiful sight.

"Yes, it is," Holmes murmured in his ear. He started and leaned back with a blush when he realized he'd leaned in front of Holmes to see better and ended up leaning against the man's chest. Holmes simply shrugged and returned to watching the scenery around them. It was then that Watson noticed he was shivering. He frowned.

"Holmes, come farther inside. You're freezing." He shuffled to the back of the cave, tugging Holmes's elbow until he was pressed into the back corner, Holmes in front of him with his side against Watson's chest. His shivers only increased, however. Watson tugged at his jacket. "Take this off," he said.

Holmes started and looked at him wide-eyed for a moment. Watson saw a flash of - fear? Nervousness? - before he schooled his features and shrugged out of his jacket. His clothes underneath were wet as well, Watson noted, but there was nothing to be done about that. Instead he took Holmes's jacket and walked to the mouth of the cave and carefully secured it over the top of the rock. It only covered half the opening, but it was better than nothing. He limped back inside, shedding his own coat and leaving it on the ground just inside.

Most of the light was blocked out, now. He could barely make out the form of his friend, but he didn't mind. He just walked forward until they were pressed together, his chest to Holmes's side once more, only this time trapping Holmes in the back of the cave. The shared heat would have immediately soothed him, except Holmes seemed more tense than ever, his breathing slightly labored.

"What's wrong?" Watson asked. Holmes didn't respond. "Are you still cold?"

"Yes," he finally admitted. Watson couldn't help but smile a bit to himself; Holmes _would_ rather freeze than submit to any unnecessary physical contact. Still, he reached out to grip him by the shoulders and started to turn them face-to-face to better share their warmth. Up close, he could see that Holmes was wide-eyed again, and shook him off with surprising efficiency. "I'm fine," he said quickly. He managed a slight smile before he went to turn away. Watson caught him by the shoulders again, determined.

"Holmes, this is ridiculous," he tugged the detective toward him, ignoring his struggles, "We need to keep each other warm until the weather clears up." Holmes put a hand on his chest to push him away, but with one harsh tug Watson managed to bring their fronts in contact rather forcefully.

_Oh._

Watson's mind went blank for a moment, focused completely on the hard, pulsing length pressed firmly against his lower abdomen. Immediately his mind was racing, pouring over his memories for any sign that he'd missed that would point to _this_. When he finally came back to himself, he was looking at Holmes's face, twisted in a mixture of fear and sadness. His chest tightened at the thought of being such a source of distress for his friend, no matter how shocked he was at recent developments. He slipped an arm around his shoulders and murmured in the kindest voice he could muster, "We can talk about it later, Holmes; for now, we _do_ need to stay warm. I won't have you catching your death of cold."

The detective nodded, but humiliation burned in his eyes. Watson felt a keen sympathy for the man; he was certain he would never want the object of his desire to discover his feelings in such a crude manner.

That thought gave him pause. The object of his desire. He flushed at the idea when applied to himself and Holmes. Holmes, who had never imagined would desire _anyone_, desired _him_, apparently. Or was it merely that he was a man, in close proximity? Oddly, he found himself anxious to know, though he had no idea how to go about asking such a question. He shifted uncomfortably at the thought.

Holmes's hand suddenly shot out and gripped his hip painfully, holding him in place. His breath was slightly ragged, his eyes staring straight ahead. Watson blushed when he realized his shifting about was probably aggravating his... situation.

"Sorry," he said, surprising himself with how breathless he sounded. Holmes merely shook his head, eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder. His grip loosened.

Watson stared into his face, flushed, wet hair still plastered to his head, mouth open slightly. Holmes was an attractive man, certainly, he found himself thinking. And it wasn't as if he'd never entertained the notion of men as bedpartners - when he was very lonely or in the service when women had been scarce - but he'd never had the guts to give in and cross that line. But the thought of Holmes - brilliant, aloof Sherlock Holmes - harbouring deeper feelings for him drew him like a moth to a flame. Mouth dry, he shifted again, experimentally.

The detective's grip on his hip turned painful once more. "_Watson_," he pleaded. Watson's whole body jerked as pleasure shot down his spine at the husky tone. Holmes turned to glare at him, but stopped when he saw his face.

"_Oh_."

Watson couldn't help but smile. He leaned forward and brushed his lips across the detective's in a feather-light kiss, watching as his eyes slid shut and the tension in his face finally began to drain away. He deepened the kiss and encouraged Holmes's arms around his waist, then wound his own arms around his shoulders, tugging them closer. He pressed his semi-hard arousal against his friend's hipbone, smirking in satisfaction as Holmes whimpered into his mouth.

Suddenly, his back slammed against the stone wall, Holmes's hand protecting the back of his head. He looked up at Holmes, startled. He was staring down at Watson, one hand cradling Watson's head, the other braced on the wall next to it. The intensity in his gaze shocked him and his half-hard cock jumped and tightened his pants painfully.

"Watson," he said in tightly controlled tones, "if you don't want to do this, say so now, and we will move to opposite ends of this cave and never speak of this again, if you wish it. If you insist on proceeding, however..." he clenched his fist and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Watson was breathless for a moment, unable to speak. There would be no going back, he knew; if they crossed this line, the friendship they'd shared for years would be forever altered. Still, the allure of what might wait on the other side drove him forward. He pulled Holmes against him once more and kissed him, forcing his tongue into his mouth. At first Holmes stayed perfectly still, as though still giving Watson the option to bring an end to this, but then his fastidious self-control finally snapped. He stroked Watson's tongue languidly with his own, tilting his head to take control; and Watson let him, as he always did.

He leaned back against the wall, relishing in the slide of wet cloth between their bodies, the hot pressure against his skin wherever their bodies met. Holmes leaned back to watch as he ran a hand down Watson's side experimentally, gauging his reaction. Watson shuddered and he hummed appreciatively. His fingers moved deftly over the buttons of his shirt, eyes darting, taking in every detail as his chest slowly slid into view. He'd seen that look on the detective's face often enough, when he examined evidence or was puzzling out a solution, but when it was turned on _him_ it was all he could do to keep from coming in his pants right then. Holmes pushed his shirt open and stroked a finger down his chest, his nail grazing his nipple. He hissed and gripped Holmes' shoulders. He barely had time to register the sinful smirk Holmes gave him before the man's lips mimicked the motion, leaving a hot trail down his chest and abdomen. He tangled his hands in those thick black locks, his need nearly painful just from seeing Holmes kneeling in front of him. Holmes stood suddenly and leaned in to press kisses to his neck once more. He gasped, but felt a twinge of disappointment.

"I do hope you're not adverse to making use of the ground," Holmes panted in his ear. Then he was being manhandled, pushed down onto his back, any protest he might have made swallowed whole by Holmes's questing tongue, invading his mouth hot and slick, then moving to glide down his neck and suck at the hollow of his throat. The rock was bitterly cold against his back, but he quickly forgot about it as Holmes slid down him again, graceful as a cat and began to tug at his flies. His thumbs stroked over his cock occasionally, his hot breath over the wet fabric forcing breathy moans from his throat. He pushed himself up to his elbows, panting, needing to see more. The movement drew Holmes' eyes, and as they watched each other, his tongue snaked out to run over the fabric covering the head of his cock. He spread his legs further in encouragement.

"Please," he choked out. There was a molten heat in Holmes' eyes, a sinful promise of things to come. He folded his lanky form over the cramped space, tugging Watson's trousers down in one swift movement. Watson marveled at the sight of Holmes kneeling between his knees, his tongue dragging heavily over his sac and pressing hot kisses to his inner thighs. Holmes' eyes drifted closed with such a look of bliss that Watson had to close his eyes as well, the physical and visual stimulation too much to bear at once.

Finally, a wet heat engulfed him and he gasped, curling himself around Holmes and burying both hands in his hair. He couldn't last long, he knew. Pleasure was building at the base of his spine all too soon. He bucked frantically into his warm mouth, his head falling back. Holmes pulled away suddenly, and his eyes shot open with a growl. Holmes just chuckled.

"I was hoping you might want to try something else," he purred.

"Wh - what?" he panted, fighting the urge to fist his own cock. He was _so close_... precum dripped down onto his abdomen and he whimpered, thrusting his hips slightly in the cool air. Holmes licked his lips as he watched, but he tore his gaze away and leaned over to Watson's medical bag to rummaged around in it. Finally, he pulled out a small tube and tossed it to Watson. "A lubricant?" he was dumbfounded for a moment, then flushed deeply when he realized what Holmes was asking him to do.

"Only if you want to," Holmes said. He paused at that. He knew that if done properly it could be pleasurable, but he _didn't_ know how to do it properly, and he wasn't sure how to ask Holmes if he did. But he took in the flush on Holmes' cheeks and the straining outline of his erection in his trousers, and knew there was only one thing he could say.

"I - I... yes," he breathed. Holmes' smile was dazzling; he laid there dazed while the detective moved to cover his body with his own, soft lips pressing against his own with such exquisite sweetness, a quiet offering of thanks.

He heard the click of the bottle, but focused on Holmes' lips until he shifted to the side and a slick digit pressed against his opening. He was surprised at the jolt of pleasure that ran through him as Holmes rubbed gently at the muscle.

"Relax," Holmes murmured in his ear. Watson took a deep breath and nodded, grimacing slightly as he slid inside. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he breathed. He looked down at their bodies; his naked, knees spread with Holmes' hand disappearing behind his sac and shifting obscenely contrasted with his friend's completely clothed form. Holmes pulled back and pressed two fingers inside; he gasped as he stretched further and reached to undo Holmes' shirt to distract himself. Holmes shifted his fingers rhythmically, sending shocks of pleasure through him. Then they were laying naked together, Holmes' fingers still working inside him, his erection bobbing in the cool air as he shifted his hips. Holmes twisted his fingers inside him and he jerked in surprised pleasure. Holmes chuckled and did it again, causing him to arch his back and whimper, hands clutching at whatever he could reach of his friend. He gripped Holmes' cock firmly, stroking rapidly.

"Are you ready?" Holmes said breathlessly. He groaned and nodded his assent. Holmes moved to kneel between his legs again, encouraging his legs apart and his knees up until he was almost folded in half; Watson gripped his knees with a mixture of excitement and nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. Holmes gripped his hips firmly and slowly pressed inside.

He gasped as he felt himself stretch; a flash of fear went through him, but then Holmes was inside, leaning over him and pressing warm kisses to his lips, cheeks, murmuring soft words he couldn't catch, voice trembling. He shifted his hips; Holmes' hands scrambled desperately over his hipbones and he gasped, hips jerking. He began to roll his hips, heat flashing through him as Holmes' cock pressed deeper inside of him, his own member trapped firmly between their shifting bodies. Then Holmes was moving faster, hard, deep thrusts that made stars burst behind his closed lids as he gasped and writhed helplessly beneath him. Holmes shifted a hand between them and tugged at his cock mercilessly, and with a gasp he spent himself over his hand and abdomen. Dimly, he heard Holmes give a choked cry, and then he collapsed on top of him with a satisfied sigh.

They lay wrapped around each other, listening to the torrential wind and rain, fingers gently ghosting over skin, lips moving together in slow caresses. Finally, Watson leaned back and strained to look out the small opening.

"It doesn't look like it's going to let up soon," he observed.

Holmes just smiled at him. "I suppose we'll just have to stay here, then," he said lightly, nipping at Watson's lower lip. He smiled and melted into his friend's embrace.

\-----

When Watson awoke the first thing he noticed was how very cold he was. He shivered and winced as the movement sent a flash of pain up his injured leg. With a groan he opened his eyes and looked around. The small cave was deserted; the coat that had been hanging in the doorway was gone He raised a hand to block the early morning light for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He walked to the entrance and looked out over the field. His breath hitched.

The water was peaceful, the sun peeking over the edge sending glorious streaks of color through the now clear sky. Under the early morning light the faint mist made the beach taking on the appearance of a thousand glittering diamonds. Holmes was standing halfway to the water, bare feet planted firmly in the sand, his long coat bunched up where he his hands were thrust into his pockets. His usually impeccably groomed hair was tousled and just curling at the ends. Watson leaned against the rock and wished he could burn that image into his mind; to forever close his eyes to the serene image of his friend.

"Are you ready to go back, Watson?" Holmes turned his upper body to look at him, eyebrow raised. Watson just smiled at him.

"Never," he muttered to himself.


End file.
